


What we see

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Series: Creepy Pinto AUs [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:59:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire AU.<br/><em>And now the voices get louder, one high-pitched and scared, the other… the other voice is laughing. We get closer to the house, to the voices, to the two men inside. One is begging now, saying “please” and “no” and “don’t”, the other mocks and taunts and laughs and laughs.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	What we see

**Author's Note:**

> The third fic I wrote for the Christmas Exchange at ontd_pinto on LJ. The prompt was "creepy atmospheric Pinto AU".  
> (The others are "Obsession" and "Ghosts of the Past")
> 
> **Please heed these warnings: very angsty, brutal and violent. Character death. Please don't read if you don't like.**
> 
> ... also, this is what happens when I try to write a Vampire AU.

_Now_  
We see a house. A normal house, painted yellow and white, a wooden fence separating it from a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. One window on the second floor is open, a curtain wafts slightly in a gentle breeze on this warm summer night. A couple of rosebushes in a garden, a stone statue of an little fat angel on top of a pillar of fake marble, a sprinkler goes tshk-tshk next to it, a soft rain on grass starched by the sun of the past days.

We see a car in the driveway. One side is dusty, the other is getting sprayed by the sprinkler and looks cleaner. A front door, closed and locked, a brass knocker in the form of a lion’s head and a small round window to see who’s standing on the front step.

A normal house, a nice house. Few of the lights are on inside, and now one goes out, one room goes dark. Faintly we hear children laughing in the distance, the sounds of passing cars, a dog barking somewhere far away. And from inside…

We hear something crashing, sounds like glass. We hear yelling, a voice, and a second one, and again something crashes, heavy thuds. And now the voices get louder, one high-pitched and scared, the other… the other voice is laughing. We get closer to the house, to the voices, to the two men inside. One is begging now, saying “please” and “no” and “don’t”, the other mocks and taunts and laughs and laughs.

  
_Earlier_  
We see a man. A man dressed in jeans and a striped shirt, barefoot and unshaven, pacing up and down his living room, a phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder while he opens a water bottle. The cap comes off, the man takes a large gulp then sets the bottle onto a small glass table by the couch without caring that some of the water spills out. The man grips the phone properly in his left hand and presses it to his ear while the right hand runs through disheveled hair.

“No! I still haven’t heard anything! I called everyone I could think of, Katie and Karl and John and Zoe and his parents… even Simon, who’s in fucking London, but nobody heard anything! He’s nowhere, nobody knows anything, he hasn’t called me, he’s just… he’s just gone!”

The man flops down on the couch and briefly presses a weary hand to his eyes. Then he jumps back up and resumes his pacing, too worked up to sit still, too worried. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark bags underneath them, and as he presses a hand to his forehead, we can see his fingernails have been bitten down until they’ve bled.

“Don’t you ‘calm down, Zach’ me! Chris is gone, nobody knows where he is or what happened and you tell me to calm down! I’m not calm, I’m not gonna calm down until he’s back, Joe!”

The man punches the wall. Hard. He doesn’t seem to care about the pain, just sucks absently on his bruised knuckles while he paces. The person on the other end of the phone is talking now, apparently trying to soothe and calm, the man listens without a word, but it doesn’t seem like he’s calming down. Just like he said he wouldn’t.

The man is silent for a long time. His eyes are shut now; he leans back against the wall he just punched, just listening and breathing heavily, and is silent. Eventually he speaks again.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll try. I’ll call you later, Joe. Just… just tell me if you hear anything. I’ll wait a few hours and then call the police again, maybe they got news. Yeah. Bye.”

The man hangs up and throws the phone across the room. It lands on the backrest of the couch, from there it slips down and falls between the pillows. The man groans, long and pained. He slides down along the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs, face buried in his knees. The man’s shoulders are shaking.

  
_Later_  
Inside the house, in the living room. Pillows are strewn across the floor, a flower pot that used to sit on the windowsill has fallen down, spilling dirt everywhere. On the ground near the wall lies a picture frame, sharp shards of glass over a photo of two smiling men with their arms around each other, one dark, one light. The dark one is who we saw earlier, the other one we haven’t met yet. Next to the picture frame we see the remains of the phone, broken pieces of plastic scattered over the wooden floor.

A hallway, more picture frames, some of them still hanging but crooked, others smashed to the floor, more glass shards littering the floor. A small table, upended, the little figurine that sat on top of it now lying in the corner, its head several feet away.

A bedroom, a closet. Inside the closet, in the dark, pressed back against the wall underneath the clothes that hang in here, sits a man. We know this man, he’s the one who was on the phone earlier. One hand covers his mouth to muffle his ragged breathing, the other clutches a baseball bat. His hair is tousled, his clothes are torn. There’s blood on his collar. Back when he was on the phone he’d looked worried and scared – now he looks terrified.

Outside the closet, somewhere in the house, another man. We can’t see him, we don’t know where he is. We can only hear his voice.

“Zach, come out! Come out and talk to me! Where are you? I have so much to show you… Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

The voice sing-songs, we hear a door open and close again.

“Not in there? Oh well, I’m just gonna keep looking! I’m gonna find you, wherever you are! You can’t hide forever, you know that, right? I can smell you…”

The voice draws closer. In the closet, the man presses himself further back and clutches the bat tighter. His face is pale, his eyes wide and dark and scared, he’s shaking.

“Zach? Zach, come out, please, please come out! I need you, Zach, please, I love you, you have to help me! I’m scared…”

The voice is begging now, it sounds so afraid and alone and hurt, inside the closet the man closes his eyes, tears running silver down his cheeks. The bat falls from limp fingers too weak to hold it anymore. The man hugs himself, shaking his head slowly as he listens to the other man’s pleas.

The pleas stop. A chuckle.

“Did you fall for it? You’ve better had doubts for at least a second. I’m an actor, you know; I should be able to convince you I’m all scared and helpless. Did it work? Tell me it did, or I’ll be insulted.”

Footsteps. Footsteps in the hallway, right in front of the door to the bedroom, so close.

“Are you in there? Zach, are you in the bedroom, waiting for me to find you? Because I will, sweetheart, I’ll find you. Ha, I like this game! We should do that again some time, you running away and trying to hide, and then I catch you!”

And now, the door to the bedroom opens. Footsteps on the floor, walking around the room. Something falls down, maybe a book. More books hit the floor outside the closet, and the man flinches with every thud, breath high and panicky.

“Doesn’t that sound nice? I know how much you like to play…”

Inside the closet, the man reaches for the bat again. His eyes are open and fixed on the door, tears still on his cheeks, but his face determined. Scared, so scared, but determined. Ready.

More footsteps, drawing closer, closer, towards the closet, towards the man hiding there. The man who is now standing up slowly and raising the bat.

“Don’t you want to play, Zach? Come out and play? Where are you, Zach? You’re close, aren’t you? I can hear your heart beat… and this room smells like you, like your fear… are you afraid of me?”

The man stands in the closet, bat gripped firmly. His face… his face. Full of pain and determination, and fear and sadness and empty, empty eyes. Lifeless, like something died. Like some _one_ died.

“You should be, you know. You’ve seen what I can do now, what I am now. But don’t be scared, I’m not gonna hurt you. Well, okay, I will, but it’ll be so much fun! Come on out, Zach….”

The door opens.

A man stands there. The other man, the light one, the one we saw in the picture. He’s grinning now, but it doesn’t look right, no, not at all. It looks wrong, too many teeth, like blood and violence and death, that’s how his smile looks. Now we understand why the man was scared, why he was hiding in there – why he now brings the bat down with all his might, aiming for the head the man grinning that grin at him.

The bat never connects. The grinning man grips it tightly, inches before the wood would have hit his forehead. The man who had hid in the closet lets go with a gasp and stumbles back, hitting the wall. Several shirts fall from their hangers and land in a colorful heap on the floor.

The grinning man throws the bat over his shoulder without looking where it lands.

“Found you! I win!”

  
_Earlier_  
The man is still sitting against the wall, face buried in his knees, like we left him. But something is different – the man is crying. If we are really quiet, we can hear his hiccupping breaths and soft sobs. His shoulders are shaking slightly, his knuckles white from where they grip the cloth of his jeans. So sad and worried, so sad.

A knock on the door. Two quick taps, a pause, then another two taps. A special knock, maybe, one the man on the floor apparently knows. Because his head is lifting now, wet eyes big and unbelieving, he scrambles up, wincing slightly when his body unfolds from the position it held for so long. The man hastens across the room, hope blossoming slowly on his face, and he opens the door to reveal someone standing on the door step.

Another man, and we know him, heard his voice and his taunts and his laugh, we’ve seen him before, we’ve seen him! It’s the man from the picture, the light one, but he’s not light, no, he’s dark and black, he’s deadly and dangerous, he’s wrong, he’s wrong! But the man doesn’t see it, can’t see it through the worry and the happiness and the relief, he wraps his arms around the man at the door and presses him close, can’t he see that face, that smile, those eyes? Can’t he _tell_?

“Chris! Oh God, Chris! I was so worried, where have you been? I was scared out of my mind, where _were_ you?!”

The man doesn’t, but we see it, we see how wrong the other is, we see the smirk and the teeth! Oh those teeth, long and deadly, and those eyes, so blue, unnaturally blue, no human has eyes like that! We see the dangerous man lean close to the other one’s neck and inhale deeply, we see a pink tongue snaking out to taste the soft, vulnerable skin there, and we see those teeth, and we know, we know!

But the man doesn’t see it. He doesn’t. He murmurs “I love you” and pulls back with a radiant smile, he takes the other’s hand and pulls him into the room, he tugs him over to the couch and pulls him down on it. He sits there, holding the other’s hands, gazing lovingly into that face and _doesn’t see it._

“God, I missed you so much, Chris, where have you been? What happened?”

“You’re right, something happened, Zach. Something happened all right. Something amazing. I want to show you, will you let me show you? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

And we want to scream and tell the man to get out, run away, but we can’t… and the man still doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear what’s in that voice, underneath those words, and the man smiles and says, “Of course, whatever you want, Chris. Show me.” and we see that grin, and it’s too late, too late, far too late!

  
_Later_  
The man is on the bed, being held down by the other, he twists and fights and tries to get away, but he can’t, the other is too strong. He’s begging, pleading, crying out and trying to make the other stop, but it won’t help. It won’t help. The other is laughing and whooping, holds him down and presses him into the mattress and. He seems unfazed by the begging and the tears – in fact, it seems he likes it…

The man is exhausted now, he gives up and lies there, breathing heavily, cheeks wet and eyes wide and scared. The other settles atop him and smiles that smile, and we shiver at the sight.

“Let me show you, Zach. It’ll be so much fun, you and me, you’ll see.”

Those teeth get even longer, the eyes get even bluer, and then it happens, the man screams and the other laughs, and then he bends down, towards the vulnerable throat, the skin and the pulse fluttering wildly beneath it, and then he bites down and the man screams and screams.

We turn away, we don’t want to watch it, we can’t. We hide in a corner for a long time, looking at the wall, but we still hear it. We hear the whimpers, the pained grunts and the laughter. We hear clothes being torn, we hear flesh against flesh and moans and more screams… and more laughter. We hide in the corner and don’t watch, but we still hear it.

Finally, it’s over. Now there’s no sound at all, now it’s quiet.

We look back towards the bed hesitantly, and recoil at the sight. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the sheets, on the two bodies twisted around each other. So much blood, God, so much.

The man is lying there, pale and so still. Lifeless. There are wounds all over his body, bite marks, but they have stopped bleeding now. No blood left in him anymore. The other man – the one that was light in the picture – is watching him. And now the man is stirring, not so lifeless after all, moving slowly and raising his head.

“Welcome to my world, Zach. Aren’t you glad I showed you?”

The man blinks at his surroundings, at the room and the bed and the blood, a faint crease between his brows. Then he focuses on the other man’s face and now he smiles. We can see it, in that smile, and we know. We shiver as they look at each other, it’s over. They are the same now – it’s too late.

“I am Chris, I am. Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, baby, you and me, so much fun…”

They… it’s not a kiss, not like we have seen it before, it’s biting and fingers pulling at hair, burying in soft flesh. It’s teeth and pain and blood, and they kiss and laugh. Their bodies start moving against each other, rubbing and twisting and pressing close, one moans and the other joins in, they writhe and pull each other closer, bite and scratch and moan. We turn away again, we don’t want to watch.

Then we hear it.

“Jesus, what the fuck happened here? Zach, are you alright, kiddo? Where are you?”

A voice in the living room, someone cursing and making crunching sounds as they wals over the broken glass everywhere. Somebody else is here, someone who hasn’t seen them yet, someone who doesn’t know!

And we turn towards the bed again, shocked and scared. They both are looking towards the door to the hallway, and now they smile at each other.

“It’s your brother, Zach, he came to check up on you.”

“How nice of him to stop by, how… delicious.”

“Let’s go say hi.”

Laughter. A kiss. Then they get up and walk towards the door, naked, bloody, hand in hand and smiling.

The door closes behind them, we sit in our corner and look at it. Then the screaming starts, and we cover our ears. We don’t want to hear it, we don’t want to see it.

And we weep, because it’s too late now, too late. It’s over.

  
The End.


End file.
